


Sunshine and Springtime

by schlicky



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conman!AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlicky/pseuds/schlicky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long con of Nathaniel Fick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine and Springtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lastwingedthing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/gifts).



> Thank you to Meg and Shosh for the beta, and to Anji for having a lot of patience while I whined and flailed. Written for the Spring Fling challenge. The title comes from a Swedish con artist who conned a lot of women using personal ads in the paper under that particular heading.

“No fucking way.”

Ray sighs dramatically and circles around the table to wrap his arms around Walt’s shoulders from behind. “Come on, Walt,” he says, ducking his head down to nip at Walt’s ear. “You know you want to.”

Walt jerks his head away and tries to shove Ray’s arms off of him. “No.” He looks at Brad across the table, who’s watching the scene impassively. “You’re both out of your goddamn minds. We’re not doing it.”

A smile ghosts across Brad's face. “Is that your only complaint?”

Walt stares at him. “Brad, he’s a _cop_.”

One of Brad’s eyebrows arches. “And?”

“We’re not marking a fucking cop! That’s fucking asking for trouble.”

Ray starts running his fingers through Walt’s hair. “C’mon, baby,” he coos. “He’s got a lot of old family money.”

Walt shoots Ray a glare and smacks his hands away. “I don’t care what kind of money it is. I don’t care if he was born with a solid gold spoon up his fucking ass. What part of ‘he’s a cop’ are you guys not understanding?”

Brad looks mostly amused. He reaches across the table and grabs an orange out of the bowl that’s sitting there. “The fact that he’s a cop is an aspect of this job that’s just going to make it that much more satisfying when we take him to the cleaners.” He starts to peel the orange, dropping the pieces of skin on the table in front of him.

Walt sighs. He realizes this is a battle he’s already lost - they’ve made up their minds. “When we get nabbed and have to spend the rest of our fucking lives in jail, I’m going to say I told you so.”

Ray grins. “You don’t honestly think they’d put us in cells next to each other, do you?” he asks, but Brad starts talking over him halfway through.

“You just worry about making sure the papers and documents look official so they'll pass inspection, and Ray and I will figure out the best angle of approach.”

Walt nods his head and climbs to his feet. “Done. How long have we been here?”

Brad pops an orange slice into his mouth and seems to think about the question as he chews. “Somewhere in the neighborhood of a year, maybe a year and a half,” he replies. He smiles a little as he watches Walt walk out of the small kitchen. “His being a cop just means we have to make sure all of our I’s are dotted and our T’s are crossed. No corner-cutting.”

“Sure thing, Iceman.” Ray flashes him a big grin and circles back around the table when Brad holds up an orange slice. He grabs a hold of Brad’s wrist and brings Brad’s hand up to his mouth to take the slice. He makes sure to suck the juice off Brad’s fingers afterward.

There’s a long stretch of silence where neither of them says anything before Ray tilts his head a little and asks seriously, “Do you wanna spend some extra time on surveillance?”

Brad eats another slice of orange. “I don’t know that we really need to, but it’s probably not a bad idea,” he says. “It might make Walt feel better.”

Ray laughs. “I doubt it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Brad finishes off the rest of his orange and uses the hem of Ray’s shirt to wipe his hands.

“Asshole,” Ray says affectionately, but lets Brad kiss him briefly when he stands up.

Brad smiles and squeezes the back of Ray’s neck. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Ray’s answering grin is wide. “Nathaniel Fick isn’t going to know what fuckin’ hit him.”

* * *

They order a pitcher of beer and camp out at a high top table in the corner where it’s easy to keep an eye on the whole bar. It’s Friday night, so it’s crowded. If someone asked him to put money on it, Brad would bet that a good majority of the patrons are off-duty cops.

Ray nudges Brad with an elbow and taps the appetizer section of the menu. “Hey, do you guys want to get some appetizers?”

Walt finishes pouring them all a glass of beer and sets the pitcher down. “I could go for some food,” he agrees.

“That’s fine,” Brad nods.

Ray gets the attention of their waitress and puts in an order for some onion rings, a basket of fries, and some jalapeño poppers. He winks at Brad when Brad arches an eyebrow at the last. “I know how much you like them, honey.”

Brad rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his beer, turning his attention back to the rest of the bar.

Walt glances over his shoulder once. “You sure he’s gonna be here tonight?” he asks, fiddling with one of the square cardboard coasters.

“Yeah,” Brad replies. “He’s here every Friday. He and his partner come in and have a couple of beers, and he usually stays long after his partner calls it a night.”

“And you’re sure he’s not going to punch you in the face if you hit on him?”

Brad’s gaze switches back over to Walt and he sighs. “Are you going to second-guess everything about this whole operation?” he asks. “Relax, Walt. Ray and I did the recon.”

“Speak of the devil. He just walked in the door. And his partner _is_ with him.” Ray takes a gulp of his beer. “Though, you know, I never did figure out why they call him Gunny.”

Walt huffs a laugh and chews on the end of a toothpick. “Why does it matter? Does it make you nervous?” he asks.

Ray shrugs his shoulders. “A little,” he says. “Maybe he’s a trigger-happy motherfucker. Maybe he’ll figure out what we’re planning to do and cap all of us. We won’t have to do any time behind bars. The plus side to that being that you wouldn’t have to worry about getting ass-raped in prison, Walt.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ray,” Brad puts in blithely. He shifts back a little when their waitress brings over a tray loaded down with their appetizers. Most of his attention is still focused across the bar.

“Let me know if you boys need anything else,” she announces. She flashes a smile and then disappears.

Ray picks apart a couple of onion rings, licking his fingers. “Are you going to get this show on the road, or are you just going to sit here all night?” he asks Brad.

Brad shakes his head and reaches for one of the poppers. “He hasn’t been in the door for more than fifteen minutes. Approaching him this quickly would just be stupid,” he replies. “Keep your pants on.”

There’s a pause before Ray flashes him a filthy grin. “You know, Brad, I think that’s probably the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

Walt rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt.

They finish off a second pitcher of beer as they make their way through all of their appetizers. Once they’ve cleaned off their plates they move on to an open pool table and start up a game. They’re halfway through the second one when Walt clears his throat. “He keeps looking over here.”

Brad looks up from the line of his shot. His back is to the bar where Fick and Wynn have been standing since they arrived. “You’re kidding.”

“He’s probably checking out your ass, Iceman.” Ray flashes him a grin and drains the rest of his beer. “Miss your fucking shot already and go get us another pitcher.” He watches when Brad purposely puts the ball to the left of the pocket and then shoves the cue stick at Walt. Ray and Walt exchange a look. “Here we go.”

Walt stares at the table for a second and then rounds the corner. He bends down to line up his shot, but glances toward the bar to see what’s going on.

Brad’s got himself tucked into the small bit of space to Fick’s left, smiling and chatting him up. Wynn is staring up at one of the wall-mounted TVs and seems to be laughing into his beer glass. Brad’s hand slides over and touches Fick’s hip briefly. Fick says something, shakes his head a little.

Ray’s standing on the other side of the pool table, watching Walt watch the bar. “What?” he asks when Walt frowns.

“I’m pretty sure Brad just got shot down,” Walt says quietly. He takes his shot and sinks the eight ball in the corner pocket.

Ray’s brow furrows and he looks up when Brad’s shoulder brushes his as he returns to the table. “You’re fucking kidding.”

Brad shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Then we’re fucked,” Ray says, slapping the hand not holding his cue stick down onto the edge of the pool table. “All of that work for fucking nothing.”

There’s a moment of collective silence before Walt makes a gesture toward the fresh pitcher Brad’s holding. “Now I _really_ need a drink,” he says morosely.

Ray colorfully agrees and turns to grab their glasses off the small table tucked against the wall only to find they’ve been cleared off by mistake. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he bitches. “I’ll be right back.”

Brad sighs and moves to the small table, setting the pitcher down until Ray gets back with the new glasses. He grabs the ball rack and starts to set them up for another game. He sets the rack back on the table with the beer and grabs the cue stick Ray left leaning against the table. “Do you want to break, or do you want me to?” He looks up when Walt doesn’t respond. “Walt?”

Walt is staring at the bar. “Brad,” he begins, and nods in the direction he’s been staring. “Get a load of this shit.”

Brad turns to see what Walt is talking about and is greeted with the sight of Nate Fick sidling up next to Ray, smiling widely. “Get the fuck outta here,” he murmurs. He shares a look with Walt and they both stare openly.

Ray seems startled by the attention but he recovers quickly, flashing a big grin at Fick. They exchange a few words and Ray makes a gesture toward the empty glasses he’s holding.

Walt rounds the corner of the pool table as Ray crosses back over to them, and he takes the glasses Ray shoves at him. “Did Fick just hit on you?” he asks.

Ray glances at Brad and huffs out a breath, nodding. “Yeah, he did.” He makes a vague gesture over his shoulder. “I’m gonna--”

“Yeah. You want another beer before you go back over there?” Walt asks, even as Brad is picking the pitcher back up to pour new glasses. “You know, a little liquid courage?”

“Uh, no, it’s okay. He wants to buy me a drink.” Ray wipes his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Brad?”

Brad finishes pouring two glasses and sets the pitcher back down. “It’s okay. Go,” he says quietly. “You know what to do. Set the hook. We’ll hang out a little while longer, but you know your way home.”

Ray takes a deep breath and then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Walt flashes him a big grin. “Get some.”

* * *

When Ray retakes his spot at the bar there’s a tall glass of pale beer waiting for him.

“I hope you don’t mind Sam Adams.”

“Sam Adams is fine, man.” Ray settles on the edge of his stool and picks up the glass, taking a long sip. He smiles after he sets the beer back down and says, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m Nate Fick.”

Ray hopes his smile doesn’t look as nervous as he feels and he takes the offered hand. There’s a half a second where he almost says ‘Ray’ out of instinct, but that’s not what the fake state license Walt made him says. “Josh Parsons.”

Nate smiles and wipes some of the condensation off the side of his glass with the pad of his thumb. He glances over his shoulder, toward the pool tables. “I hope your friend’s feelings aren’t too hurt.”

“Brandon?” The name sounds weird coming out of his mouth, and Ray just hopes like hell that he doesn’t fuck this up. “Nah, he’s fine. It’s not like you’re the first person to ever shoot him down,” he says.

“That’s good. They don’t mind that I’m stealing you away for a while, do they?” Nate’s smile is flirty as he moves his stool a little bit closer to Ray.

Ray does his best to return the smile even though it feels weird. “Nah. They’ve got a new pitcher and one less glass to share it with, so I’m sure they don’t really give a shit.”

Nate grins and looks up when a hand falls on his shoulder. “Hey Gunny. You headin’ out?”

“Yeah. Take care of yourself, Nate,” Wynn says. He flashes a small, friendly smile at Ray and squeezes Nate’s shoulder once before he turns to go.

Ray busies himself with taking another long sip of his beer. When he sets it back down, he realizes Nate is watching him closely. “Uh. So.”

Nate grins a little and kicks at Ray’s shoe. “Are you always this awkward?” he asks.

Ray flushes and coughs. “Yeah, I guess,” he says because he can’t very well tell Nate that he’s nervous because they’re trying to take him for everything he’s got. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” Nate sips his beer. “So, Josh. What do you do?”

“Oh. Uh, I’m an IT specialist,” Ray supplies. Even if they don’t normally ever have to use the information, they always come up with an extensive background for each of them. “I’ve only been in the area about a year. Brandon an’ Will were lookin’ for another roommate and they really helped me out. What about you?”

Nate smiles. “I’m actually a police officer,” he replies. “Gunny, the guy I was here with earlier, he’s my partner. We usually come here on Friday nights to unwind for a while.”

Ray nods and does his best to just relax and act natural. It gets a hell of a lot easier when he sees Brad and Walt slip out the door of the bar. He doesn’t have the added pressure of knowing that they’re watching, keeping an eye on how things are going.

The final call for alcohol surprises him. He doesn’t think they’ve been sitting there _that_ long, but a glance down at his watch proves him wrong. When Ray looks up again, Nate is smiling at him and he makes a gesture toward their mostly empty beers.

“One more?” Nate asks.

He probably shouldn’t. He’s lost count of how many beers he’s had already tonight. But Ray flashes a grin and says, “Hell yeah,” instead.

Nate smiles back and gets the bartender’s attention, ordering them two more and closing out his tab. They finish their last beers and mosey outside just as the bartender starts to look like he's going to kick them out.

The grin on Nate’s face is so wide, it must be hurting. “So.”

Ray leans up against the brick of the building because he doesn’t trust himself not to sway on his feet. He hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and hikes an eyebrow at Nate. “So?” He tips his head back a little when Nate presses in closer. He knows what’s coming based on the way Nate’s eyes keep drifting down to his mouth.

“Thanks for the company,” Nate says. He braces a hand on the brick near Ray’s head and leans in.

Ray’s heart starts to hammer in his chest and he wonders absurdly for a minute if he even knows how to kiss someone who isn’t Brad. The kiss starts off as just a light brush of lips, but turns deeper when Ray opens his mouth under Nate’s.

Nate steps in closer until his body is pressing Ray’s into the wall. His other hand slides forward to curl around Ray’s hip as he licks his way into Ray’s mouth.

Ray is sort of glad that he’s drunk for this. It makes it easier to ignore the nagging feeling that keeps screaming _Brad!_ at him and just go with it. Ray arches into Nate, which makes Nate chuckle. By the time Nate finally stops kissing him, his mouth feels swollen and bruised, and his jeans are actually a little uncomfortably tight.

Nate flashes Ray a tiny, smug grin and then presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Ray’s mouth. “It was nice meeting you.” He reaches forward and tucks a piece of folded napkin into the front pocket of Ray’s jeans.

“You too,” Ray replies breathlessly. He watches Nate walk away and then fishes the napkin out of his pocket. He’s unsurprised that there’s a phone number staring up at him. He tips his head back against the building and takes a slow, steadying breath.

 _The first part is over,_ he thinks. _Game on._

* * *

Ray rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he shuffles into the kitchen and he accepts the hot mug of coffee and the peck on the lips Brad gives him. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Brad sits down at the kitchen table where Walt’s already seated, and he pulls a section of newspaper closer. “Someone had a late night last night.” Brad shakes out the paper and folds it up so that just the crossword puzzle is staring up at him.

Ray snorts and sets his coffee on the counter as he goes about cutting a bagel in half and shoving it in the toaster. “Yeah.”

Walt grins a little and props his chin on his hand. “Are you going to tell us about it?” he asks.

Ray pulls his bagel out of the toaster when it pops up, cursing under his breath when it starts to burn his fingers. He tosses it onto the counter and then digs the cream cheese out of the fridge. “There isn’t really anything to tell,” he says. “We sat at the bar and talked for most of the night.”

Brad arches an eyebrow. “‘Most of the night’?” he parrots. “So what did you do for the rest of it?”

“Uh.” Ray collects the two halves of his bagel and his coffee and joins them at the table. “Made out against the side of the building?”

Walt shakes his head, grinning. “I can’t fucking believe Nate Fick shot Brad down and then hit on you.”

“Yeah, _that_ was a fucking surprise,” Brad agrees.

“Hey, fuck you,” Ray says around a mouthful of bagel. “I’m charming and sexy.”

“You’re about as charming and sexy as a demented squirrel,” Brad tells him, but he’s smiling a little as he says it.

“If you guys are done flirting, we should probably talk about how this changes things,” Walt points out, taking a sip from his own coffee. “Because obviously Brad can’t do any of the on-site shit if he doesn’t have access to Fick’s computer.”

Brad finishes filling in one of the crossword clues and then looks up. “Well, the most important question right now is whether or not Ray got a phone number.” He glances at Ray. “So? Did you?”

Ray rolls his eyes and washes down some bagel with a sip of coffee. “Of course I did.”

“Good boy,” Brad tells him. “So now you just have to be charming long enough that he doesn’t dump your sorry ass.” He grins when Ray kicks him under the table.

“You’ve got to be charming long enough that he doesn’t have a problem leaving you unsupervised in his apartment for longer than it takes for him to go take a piss,” Walt amends. “Not much about the operation really changes except that you’ll have to copy the hard drive.”

Brad smiles. “Finding a checkbook would work, too.”

“I would think that he probably has more than one bank account,” Ray says. He finishes off the rest of his bagel and licks the leftover cream cheese off his fingers. “I doubt he keeps it all in one place.”

Walt shrugs his shoulders. “Probably not. He probably has a savings account somewhere in addition to the checking account. We need both.”

“Obviously.” Ray drains the last of his coffee. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the shit we need.”

Brad nods his head. “Of course you will. Just remember that we don’t have a deadline or anything. There’s no need to rush. Take your time. You want him to totally trust you.”

“How long d’you think it’ll take?” Ray asks.

“Hard to say,” Brad replies with a small shrug. “Everyone’s different. But he’s definitely not someone we want getting suspicious and prying into things. So if that means you take a little longer to get things done, you take a little longer.”

Walt nods his head in agreement. “We’ve done long assignments before,” he says. “If that’s what we have to do here, that’s what we have to do. I sure as hell don't like the idea of Fick picking up on it and sending us all to the clink.”

Ray snorts. “The clink?” he asks. “Really?”

“Fuck you.”

Brad rolls his eyes and cuts in. “We just don’t want it to go on for _too_ long. It doesn’t matter how careful we are, if we stretch it over too much time, it just gives Fick a lot of opportunity to figure out what’s going on.”

“So don’t rush it, but don’t take too long,” Ray says. “Right. That isn’t really vague or anything.” He makes a pained noise when Brad punches him hard in the arm. “Ow, that hurt, you fucker.”

Walt just sighs and shakes his head. “I am truly amazed that we ever accomplish anything.”

* * *

Nate’s greeting is always the same, even after weeks of this routine. He flashes a big grin and gives him a peck on the lips. “Hey. Come on in.” He gestures Ray into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. “The lemon chicken thing I put in the oven just finished cooking, so dinner’s pretty much ready. You have good timing.”

Ray smiles and toes his shoes off by the door before following Nate into the kitchen. “You didn’t have to cook anything, you know. I would have been perfectly happy eating some shitty take out or a pizza or something.”

Nate just shrugs his shoulders and cuts into one of the pieces of chicken to make sure it’s not pink. “It’s not like it was that hard to make,” he says. “It’s one of those boxed dinners where you just throw shit in the pan and throw the pan in the oven.” He picks up the potholders and grabs the glass dish, taking it over to the kitchen table where there are already plates and beers waiting. “C’mon, sit down.”

Ray moves over to the table and takes a seat. “Thanks for cooking,” he says.

"Sure," Nate replies and starts serving the food.

Over the course of the meal, they talk about anything and everything. When they're done eating, Ray collects the dirty dishes and takes them over to the sink while Nate wraps up what's left of the chicken and rice and puts it in the fridge.

Nate comes back over with two fresh beers and hits Ray in the side with one of them. "Leave that," he tells him. "I'll get it later."

Ray frowns a bit but shuts the water off and takes the beer that Nate offers him. "Okay." He follows Nate out into the living room and settles next to him on the couch.

"How long have you been in the IT field?" Nate asks him.

Ray shrugs his shoulders and picks at the label on his beer. "A few years," he says. "I like it, but at the end of the day it's still work." He slants a glance at Nate. "What about you?" he asks.

Nate smiles. "I've been doing this for a couple of years," he replies. "But I've been thinking about going back to school, getting my Master's, maybe doing something else."

"Why?" Ray asks.

"It's not that I don't like being a cop," Nate says. "Most days it's not so bad. But there's a lot of bullshit that goes along with it, too. Higher ups are more concerned about their promotion than they are about actually doing a good job." He shrugs his shoulders and takes a swig of his beer. "It's not everything I thought it was."

Ray offers a small smile and watches Nate's fingers skim the seam of his jeans along the outside of his knee. "That's shitty."

Nate laughs softly. "Yeah, I guess so. But it's not like we can't change our minds about what we're doing and do something else instead."

"True." Ray swallows and drinks from his beer again. The more time he spends with Nate, the more unsettled he's beginning to get about this whole operation. He wants to tell Nate that he doesn't want to hear any more stories about his childhood, or high school, or college, or the Academy. The more he hears about those things, the tighter his chest feels, the more his stomach feels like it's sinking.

He _likes_ Nate. Which makes knowing what they're planning on doing to him taste a little bitter.

Nate sets his beer on the coffee table and tugs at Ray's knee. "Hey. Where are you going?"

Ray looks up and can't help but return the small smile Nate's giving him. "Sorry," he says, and shakes his head like it's going to get rid of the thoughts residing there. "It was a long day."

Nate flashes him a grin, the hand not on Ray's knee sliding across his shoulder to play with the short hair at the back of Ray's neck. "Anything I can do?"

 _Stop being so fucking nice_ , Ray thinks. He flashes a toothy grin instead. "I can think of a few things," he says coyly.

Nate gives a surprised laugh and takes Ray's beer out of his hand. "I think I can, too." He presses Ray back into the cushions of the couch and braces some of his weight on his elbow so that he's not lying entirely on top of Ray.

Ray's heart starts to pound a little faster and he tries to push thoughts of Brad out of his head as he opens his mouth to Nate's kisses. His stomach somersaults when Nate's hand slides down his chest and stomach to the button on his jeans.

Nate pops the button open and pulls the zipper down slowly enough that Ray has plenty of opportunity to protest before his hand slips inside. He smiles against Ray's mouth when Ray arches up into his hand. "Want to move somewhere a bit more comfortable?" he asks.

Ray hears the _real_ meaning behind the question and for a brief second he almost can't breathe. "I -- this is fine," he murmurs. "Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," Nate tells him and presses a kiss to the corner of Ray's mouth. "Is _this_ okay?"

The hand curled around his cock squeezes gently and Ray gasps and curses. "Ngh, yeah."

Nate grins and nips at the curve of Ray's jaw. "Good."

* * *

Ray shuts the door to the apartment as quietly as possible and locks it behind him. There’s a light on in the kitchen, which surprises him - it’s almost two o’clock in the morning. He takes his shoes off with a hand against the wall to keep his balance and leaves them by the door. He slides his socked feet across the old wood of the front hallway and onto the linoleum of the kitchen.

Brad’s sitting at the kitchen table eating slowly from a bowl filled with macaroni and cheese as he reads the newspaper. He glances up when Ray walks in. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Ray flashes him a grin. “You waited up for me?”

Brad shoots him a look and says, “Go fuck yourself,” which is as much of an admission as anything.

“Brad, that’s so sweet,” Ray coos at him. He tugs one of the other kitchen chairs closer to the one Brad’s sitting in and steals the fork out of Brad’s hand to take a few bites of the macaroni. “Seriously, you didn’t have to stay up.”

“I was hungry.”

Ray just rolls his eyes and contents himself with eating some more of Brad’s food while Brad gets up to get a glass of water. “You’re so full of shit.”

Brad just hums and drops some ice into a glass before pouring himself something to drink. “How’d it go?” he asks.

“Fine.” He eats silently for a couple of minutes before he looks up at Brad. “Do you ever regret it?” Ray asks eventually as he spears some of the macaroni on the end of his fork. He doesn’t eat it.

Brad stops what he’s doing and stares at Ray for a long couple of minutes; long enough that Ray starts to get a little nervous. “Where is this coming from?” he asks eventually. He leans back against the counter, looking casual, but there are some tense lines in his face that give him away.

Ray shrugs his shoulders and averts his gaze, looking down at the bowl in front of him. “I was just curious, is all,” he says.

“You don’t actually feel bad for Fick, do you?” Brad asks after another lengthy silence. “It’s not like we leave any of the people we’ve done this to totally destitute, Ray. Do you have any idea how much money Fick’s parents have? Even if we wipe out his personal accounts, it’s not like he’s going to be living in a cardboard box on the street.”

“I know that.” Ray pushes the bowl away and crosses his arms over the table. “I guess I just never realized how much your job sucks. Pretending to give a shit about them and then turning around and fucking them over. Now I get why Poke started calling you ‘Iceman.’”

Brad crosses back over to the kitchen table and retakes his seat. “It’s work, Ray. That’s all it is. It’s not personal.”

Ray huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “Maybe not for us, but for them it sure as hell is,” he replies. “He didn’t do anything _wrong_ , Brad. He’s a fucking cop because he wants to _help_ people. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Ray--”

“It’s fine, Brad. I know what I have to do,” Ray says. “It’s just -- it’s getting to the point where sex is going to become an issue.”

“Having it?”

“Or not having it, as the case may be.” Ray shrugs his shoulders.

The corner of Brad’s mouth lifts just a touch. “So you have it,” he says. “You want him to trust you. You’ve been “dating” for almost three months. If you _don’t_ start putting out, he’s going to get suspicious, and the last thing we need is a fucking cop digging around for some dirt on us.”

Ray nods. “I know that. But Brad--”

“It’s okay. The fact that he wants to sleep with you is a _good_ thing.”

“Yeah, but--”

Brad shakes his head and puts his hand over Ray’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up, Ray,” he says fondly. He replaces his hand with his mouth and tugs Ray up to his feet when the kiss ends. “Just go with it. If that means you fuck him, then that means you fuck him. I trust you.” He presses another soft kiss to Ray’s mouth. “When do you see him again?”

Ray swallows. “Tomorrow.”

Brad nods and runs his fingers through Ray’s hair. “It’s okay, you know. It’s just part of the job.”

“Okay.”

Brad tugs at Ray’s fingers. “Come on. It’s late.”

Ray doesn’t put up much of a fight when Brad pushes him toward the bedroom.

* * *

Walt shifts around in the beat up armchair and glances once at the clock on the wall. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning, and Ray hasn’t come home yet. He’s beginning to seriously doubt that he’s going to come home at all. Walt glances briefly at Brad.

Brad has given up all pretense of keeping busy - the book, the twice-read magazine, and the crossword puzzle are all abandoned on the coffee table. Instead, he’s sitting on the couch mechanically taking the pen apart and putting it back together over and over again.

Walt tries to focus on his book again. The only noise he can hear is the clicking of plastic on plastic as Brad dismantles the pen. If he strains hard enough, he can hear the ticking of the clock. Somehow the quiet is a lot more distracting than when Brad and Ray are bickering, or when there’s music on.

Brad draws in a deep breath then, and the pieces of the pen join the rest of the crap on the table. He lets the breath go with a sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s making no effort to hide that he’s watching the clock.

It’s now almost two thirty, and Walt decides he’s had enough. He puts the worn bookmark back between the pages and sets the book on the small table to the left of the armchair. When he stands up, Brad glances at him. Walt offers a small smile as he stretches. “He’ll be fine, Brad,” he says.

Brad’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you just go to bed?” Walt asks.

“I’m not tired.” The dark smudges under Brad’s eyes strongly suggest otherwise.

Walt smothers a sigh. “It’s just business, Brad. You know it doesn’t mean anything,” he reminds him gently. This is a conversation he hasn’t needed to broach in a long time. They’ve been doing this long enough that Ray doesn’t fret anymore - or at least he doesn’t do it where Walt can see him. It’s weird to be having it with _Brad_.

Brad shoots him a nasty look. “I’m aware of that, thank you,” he replies, his voice tight and clipped.

Walt spreads his hands in placation. “Okay.” He stands in the middle of the living room and watches Brad glare at the clock for another handful of minutes before he finally relents and says, “I’m calling it a night, man. You should think about doing the same.”

Brad just sniffs and reaches for the abused magazine half hanging off the table.

He knows a futile battle when he sees one, so Walt just gives a half-assed wave and heads off toward his bedroom. It’s as he’s shutting the door that he hears the badly muffled curse and what sounds like Brad kicking the coffee table.

* * *

Brad listens as the front door closes and the locks click back into place. He finishes pouring himself his cup of coffee even after the footsteps come to a stop behind him. The coffee is just this side of too hot when he takes a sip, but he drinks some more of it anyway.

“The silent treatment, huh?” Ray snorts. “That’s really fucking mature.” He throws his keys onto the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. When Brad continues to stay silent, Ray shakes his head and pushes past him to disappear into their bedroom. He’s peeled his shirt off and is working on shimmying out of his jeans when the door closes. He looks over when Brad comes in but doesn’t say anything.

Brad sets his mug of coffee on the corner of the dresser. “Did you have a nice time last night?”

Ray rolls his eyes at Brad’s tone and chucks his dirty clothes toward the piece of shit wicker hamper sitting in the corner. “Are we really going to fucking argue about this?” he asks. He throws his hands up, exasperated. “You’re the one who fucking told me to go with it.”

Brad stays silent, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel very fucking good, does it, Brad?” Ray asks. He shoves the adjoining bathroom door open and slaps the light on. “Now you know how I feel every time I know you’re with somebody other than me.” He starts the shower and turns the water to hot, letting it run for a couple of minutes so that it heats up. “But at least I can say I don’t act like a prissy fucking bitch about it.”

“Did you fuck him?” Brad asks and leans in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Ray.

Ray shoots Brad an incredulous look. “No, Brad. We fucking played Monopoly all night,” he snaps. “What the fuck kind of question is that?” He strips out of his dark boxer-briefs and kicks them into the corner. “Stop being such a goddamn prick.”

The water is running hot enough that it’s starting to steam up the mirror, so Ray pushes the curtain back and climbs in. There’s a rustle of more fabric hitting the floor and then Brad climbs into the shower behind him.

Ray isn’t all that surprised when Brad pins him roughly against the wall, though Brad’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, keeping it from slamming against the tile. “Dickhead,” Ray mutters. He tips his head back and lets out a little puff of breath when Brad’s mouth attaches to his throat and the hickey he knows is already there.

Brad sucks and bites, making Nate’s marks on Ray’s skin his own. When he’s found them all, his hand comes up to settle on the side of Ray’s neck, thumb tucked under Ray’s chin. He tips Ray’s head back to look at him. “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

“Hell yeah I am,” Ray breathes. He winds his arms around Brad’s neck and shoulders, and swallows against the thumb that presses on his throat. Then Brad is slowly lowering himself to his knees in front of Ray, and Ray’s stomach tightens pleasantly at the sight. He reaches out and pushes his fingers through Brad’s hair, which is just long enough to really grab onto.

Brad makes a noise in the back of his throat and smiles up at Ray, doesn’t try to pull away when Ray uses the hand in his hair to guide Brad exactly where he wants him. He slides a hand up the length of Ray’s leg and curls his fingers around the base of Ray’s rapidly hardening cock. His tongue slides out to tease the tip.

Ray grunts and pushes his hips forward at the same time his hand is tugging Brad closer. He lets out a pleased sigh when Brad’s mouth opens and then tightens around him. “Fuck yeah.”

Brad moans and uses his hand on the part of Ray’s dick that his mouth can’t cover, glancing up at Ray through his lashes.

“Shit, Brad.” Ray thrusts forward again and he gives Brad’s hair a sharp tug when Brad tries to restrict his movement by pinning his hips against the wall. “No.” This time when he pushes his hips forward, Brad’s hands don’t try to stop him.

Brad tightens his lips and swallows around Ray’s cock, letting Ray fuck into his mouth. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from Ray’s face.

Ray keeps his hand at the back of Brad’s head even though Brad’s not fighting him. He’s vaguely aware that he should probably at least _attempt_ to stay quiet since Walt can hear them, but his brain is too focused on Brad, and the warm wet heat of his mouth, and the way Brad’s fingers have slipped under his balls, giving just the right amount of pressure.

Brad blinks up at him and then sucks as much of Ray’s cock into his mouth as he can before he starts to gag.

Ray gasps and arches, then comes with a shout.

Brad works Ray through it and finally pulls off when Ray collapses back against the tile.

Ray brushes his lips against Brad’s when he stands back up, a ghost of a kiss. “It doesn’t mean anything, Brad,” he murmurs. “You know that. It’s just the job.”

Brad nods and pushes his hand through Ray’s wet hair, nuzzling his jaw. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ray reaches behind Brad to turn off the water, which has gone cold. “We’re on the home stretch now, Brad. We’re almost done and then we can take some time off to just enjoy this one.”

“We could go back out west.”

“Yeah, we could.” Ray tugs Brad down for a long, lazy kiss. When it ends, he closes his eyes and just lets his forehead rest against Brad’s. “It’s always been you, Brad.”

* * *

Ray wakes up to a warm mouth against the side of his neck and a palm pressed flat against his stomach, tugging him back against a broad chest. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and arches his back. There’s a chuckle in his ear that’s familiar, but not the one he was expecting.

“Morning,” Nate murmurs and presses a kiss behind his ear.

Ray peels his eyes open and covers Nate’s hand on his stomach with his own. “Morning,” he replies.

Nate kisses the back of his neck. “I was going to go for a run before work,” he says. “You want to join me?”

“Fuck no,” Ray mutters and wiggles away from Nate so that he can press his face back into the pillow, closing his eyes again. “Thought you woke me up for a quick fuck. ‘m fuckin’ going back to sleep, asshole.”

Nate laughs against his skin. “Are you sure you don’t want to run a few miles?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” Ray replies. “You have fun with that.” He feels Nate drop a kiss on his shoulder and then the mattress shifts as Nate climbs out of bed. Ray keeps his eyes closed and pretends to go back to sleep, but he’s listening closely to Nate’s movements around the bedroom.

Eventually the front door of the apartment snicks shut and Ray hears the locks click back into place. He counts to twenty in his head before he throws the blankets back and his feet find the floor.

Nate’s laptop is sitting closed on top of the uncluttered desk in the corner.

Ray drops into the chair and pops the laptop open, tilting the screen back. He presses the power button and waits anxiously as the computer boots up. He knows he has plenty of time - Nate doesn’t run less than five miles in the mornings. A glance at the clock tells him that five miles will probably be all he does today.

While the computer turns on, Ray finds the black backpack he’d brought with him and unzips the front pocket and pulls out the external hard drive that’s stashed there.

He connects the cord into the appropriate port on the side of the computer and copies Nate’s hard drive onto it. Ray leans back in the chair and watches the progress bar as it downloads. It’s a sort of agonizing process and all Ray can do is listen to his heartbeat hammer in his chest.

Ray lets out a relieved breath when it finishes and he ejects the hard drive. He shuts the computer back down and snaps it shut. He crosses back over to the backpack and stashes the hard drive away again. There’s a fresh “work” shirt in the main compartment of the bag and he digs it out and then snatches his jeans off the floor before he heads into Nate’s bathroom to turn on the shower.

The water is just this side of too hot, but Ray stands under it for a long time and just takes deep breaths. Eventually he reaches for the soap and washes himself up. When he climbs out of the shower, he dries himself off and slowly gets dressed.

He’s not out of the shower for very long before the apartment door unlocks and he can hear Nate singing along to his iPod under his breath. Ray closes up the backpack and flashes a smile at Nate when he comes into the bedroom.

Nate pulls the buds out of his ears and makes a disappointed noise. “I thought you were going to sleep?” he asks. “I figured I could get you up when I got back and we could share a shower.”

Ray shrugs his shoulders and watches Nate wrap the earphone cord around his iPod, putting the player on top of the dresser. “I was going to,” he lies. “But then I couldn’t really get back to sleep. So I just got up and got ready for work.”

“I can see that,” Nate says, and tugs playfully at the fake retractable ID badge clipped to one of Ray’s belt loops.

Ray offers a small smile. “I could make some breakfast while you grab a shower,” he says.

Nate returns the smile and pecks him on the mouth. “That sounds great.”

Ray grabs his backpack and heads into the kitchen. Last night Nate had set the coffee maker to automatically brew, so he’s unsurprised to hear it already percolating. He decides to do something quick and relatively easy for breakfast and digs the eggs out of the fridge and makes a couple of omelets. He pours two mugs of coffee, adding sugar and cream to Nate’s and only some cream to his own.

Nate joins him in the kitchen a couple of minutes later, and they eat in relative silence, though Nate plays footsie with him through most of the meal. When they’re done eating, Nate collects the dishes and just dumps them in the sink for later. He pulls a travel thermos out of one of the cabinets and starts to fill it. “Do you want any more coffee?”

“No thanks,” Ray tells him. He just leans against the counter and watches Nate for a minute or two. He flashes a smile when Nate glances at him.

“You sleep okay?” Nate asks eventually. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Not really,” Ray responds, glad that Nate’s created a lie for him. He just shrugs his shoulders when Nate offers an apology. “It’s okay.” He glances at his watch and pushes off the counter, scooping up the backpack. “Ought to get going.”

Nate glances over his shoulder at the clock and nods. “Yeah.” He grabs his coffee and ushers Ray out the door, locking it behind them. When they get down to the sidewalk outside of Nate’s building, Nate flashes him a smile. “Will I see you later tonight or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I think,” Ray replies. “I’m probably gonna hang out with Brandon and Will later.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“Bye.” Ray watches for a second or two as Nate walks away, and then he turns and starts walking the other direction. After about two blocks, he crosses the street and ducks into the coffee shop on the corner. He drops into the empty chair across from Brad and takes the coffee Brad slides across the table. “Thanks.”

Brad eyes him quietly for a long minute. “Are you okay?”

Ray lets out a breath and takes off the fake ID badge, throwing it into the front pocket of the backpack. He takes the hard drive out and waves it at Brad. “Done.”

Brad’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Ray zips it back into the backpack. “So how long is it going to take you to do the transferring?”

“I’m not sure,” Brad replies. “It’s not something I’m going to be able to do in five minutes. It just depends on how long it takes me to get through the system.” He offers Ray a small, sort of apologetic smile. “You might have to play along a little longer. Are you going back over tonight?”

Ray shakes his head and smiles some when Brad’s smile stretches to a grin. “I said I was hanging out with you guys tonight. But he’s off tomorrow, so I’ll probably end up going over there during the day if you aren’t done before then.”

Brad nods his head, his fingers grazing the inside of Ray’s wrist. “I’ll try to be done.”

* * *

The shrill ring of the phone in his pocket is unexpected, and Ray startles. He rolls his eyes when Nate laughs at him, and Ray shifts his weight on the couch so that he can tug the phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen even though he knows who it is before he looks - there’s only one reason this phone would be ringing. He hits the accept button and puts the phone up to his ear. “What the fuck do _you_ want?”

“We’ve got it. Get the fuck out of there,” Brad tells him.

His heart starts pounding a little faster and Ray squashes down the urge to grin. He waits another beat or two before he says, “You’re a dumb shit. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket. He offers Nate an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I know we were gonna have dinner and pretend to watch a movie, but I’ve gotta go. Brandon just broke his ankle and can't get a hold of Will.”

Nate winces. “How did he manage that?” he asks.

Ray shrugs his shoulders and climbs off the couch. “I have no idea. Probably something really stupid, knowing him.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s okay.” Ray finds his shoes under the coffee table and shoves his feet into them. “He’s probably going to be a raging asshole about the whole thing even though it’s his own fucking fault. You’re better off just staying here and out of the line of fire.”

Nate doesn’t look particularly convinced but he eventually nods. “If you say so,” he says. He hooks one hand in the front of Ray’s jeans and tugs him close enough to kiss him. “Call me later.”

Ray flashes a grin. “Of course,” he says. He pushes up onto his toes to press another kiss to Nate’s lips before he turns and heads for the door.

“Tell Brandon he owes me,” Nate calls after him.

“I’ll be sure to,” Ray replies. He shuts the apartment door behind him and then heads for the stairs at a trot. He makes it down the two flights in record time and pushes the building door open, stopping to hold it for one of Nate’s elderly neighbors. When his feet hit the pavement, Ray digs his hand into the pocket of his jeans and comes up with the phone again.

The battery slides easily off the back and he chucks both parts into the metal trashcan that sits on the corner of the block near the crosswalk. Ray unhooks his sunglasses from the front of his t-shirt and slips them on. He walks about a block up the street before he hangs a right onto the next main road.

There’s an unfamiliar navy blue two-door that pulls up to the curb in front of him. The driver’s side door swings open and Walt climbs out, flashing a grin at him. He climbs into the back seat and pulls the seat back upright as Ray climbs behind the wheel.

Ray peels away from the curb and glances at Walt in the rear view mirror. “All the shit’s in the trunk?” he asks.

Walt makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Of course it is.”

“You ditched your phone?” Brad asks him as he rolls down the passenger window.

Ray tosses Brad a grin. “Of course I did. In the trash on the corner of Fifth and Grand.”

Brad’s mouth tips up in a crooked smile. “Good boy. Now let’s get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Yes, sir.” Ray is already veering onto the highway, heading west.

They sit in a comfortable, triumphant silence for a few minutes before Walt shakes his head and says, “I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Believe it, motherfucker. That shit just happened,” Ray tells him. “You know what? I want to hear you say it, Walt. I want you to admit that we, in our infinite wisdom, were right and that you were wrong.”

Walt makes a disgusted noise and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the back of Ray’s head. “I’m not going to say it, Person. Regardless of the outcome, it was still a stupid fucking idea.”

Brad throws Walt a grin over his shoulder and then knocks the pricey designer sunglasses perched on top of his head down to rest on his nose. “You’re just mad because you thought it wasn’t going to work.”

“Yeah,” Ray chimes in. “Have a little more faith in us, Walt.”

Walt shakes his head and slumps down a little in the backseat. He turns to stare out the window for a long minute at the cityscape around them. He’s looking forward to when the buildings melt away and it’s just a seemingly never-ending road with desert for miles on either side. “So where are we going next?” he asks eventually.

“I thought you’d never ask, Hasser.” Ray’s grin is a little manic. “Brad knows a guy who knows a guy.”

Walt glances between Brad and Ray and raises an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something?” he asks.

Brad grins and says, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Walt. It’ll work.”

Ray laughs, turns up the music and slams his foot on the gas.

* * *

Nate finds the slightly crumpled piece of paper on his nightstand, one corner tucked under his alarm clock.

 _Nate -  
I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.  
         - J._


End file.
